


Spice and Circumstance

by Lalalascivious



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Jeankasa Week, Jeankasa Week 2014, Road Trips, in a very loose sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3484814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalalascivious/pseuds/Lalalascivious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Originally for Jeankasa Week 2014, Day 1: Road Trip]<br/>With a little help from Instructor Keith Shadis and his friend Marco Bodt, Jean Kirschstein ends up taking a bit of a trip for supplies with his crush, Mikasa Ackerman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spice and Circumstance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shynii](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Shynii).



> This is a birthday gift for my wonderful friend and fellow Jeankasa/Jeanmarkasa shipper [Shynii](http://shynii.tumblr.com/)! May we celebrate many more together.
> 
> Also, yes, I did interpret "road trip" very broadly, and yes, [Jeankasa Week](http://jeankasaweek2014.tumblr.com/) was in December of last year. I'm not sorry.

It’s been a pretty mundane day for the trainees, as far as things usually go. They all have the day off training, but all that _really_ means is a day full of clerical tasks and grunt work. Jean is at least thankful he's been assigned to the same tasks as Marco today, so he's had someone to talk to. He is _not_ thankful, however, that the two of them have drawn laundry duty. He's never been a fan of wrenching his shoulders for hours scrubbing somebody's crusty underwear – and they'll have to hang everything up afterward, too. Now the washing part is finally over, and conversation between him and Marco has dried up. Jean has already realized some time ago that the one downside to a friend with a distaste for gossip is that it causes conversation to die very quickly in the middle of any boring assignment. (So, for Jean, pretty much anything that isn't training with ODM gear.)

He sighs and hefts a bucket of sopping clothes toward another empty bucket, around the corner by the clotheslines set up outside the barracks. As he rounds said corner, he spots a solitary form heading toward the bunkhouse. He can't actually see most of their features through the pile of lumber about half their size stacked in their arms. His bored mind takes a moment to logically deduce who it’s likely to be as he looks down to drop off his bucket. They must be somebody particularly strong, but they walk a bit too daintily for Bertholdt or (especially) Reiner. Ymir had been busy scrubbing the kitchen when he walked in there for soap... so it probably has to be Mikasa. His heart jumps in his chest with the realization, and he nearly blushes outright at how easily his infatuation with her affects him. Just the possibility of seeing her, maybe even getting to talk to her, is enough to lift his mood from the pit it has been languishing in for the last half-hour.

And then he looks back up, and his heart jumps again for a completely different reason – out of the corner of his vision, he notices Instructor Shadis striding purposefully toward the bunkhouse, no doubt to deliver some sort of unpleasant order to whoever catches his eye. It seems that his superior has yet to notice him, so he stealthily slips around the corner just as Marco comes toward it with his own bucket. His friend gives Jean a quizzical glance where he is now pressed against the wall before continuing out with the heavy load. Jean walks over and shuffles the clothes in his second bucket so he'll still look like he’s working if someone comes by, though he’s really only stalling. He'll apologize later for abandoning Marco to the line of fire.

As Jean hears Shadis address Marco, he lifts his bucket to start properly working again. He figures he's already avoided the worst simply not being among the first people his superior talked to. He only catches snippets of the conversation as he begins to walk back out – “supplies”, “no-good slackers”, “ride out”, “before tonight”... As he finally rounds the corner, he hears the instructor finish his explanation. “So, you! Ackerman! I want you to put that load of wood where it's supposed to go, and you, Bodt, you leave the laundry to...” Shadis seems to be having trouble recalling who’s on-duty with Marco today before his eyes fall on Jean, who awkwardly drops his heavy load in front of himself, fumbling to keep it from tipping over. “... To Kirschstein over there, and both of you take your horses to fetch those damn spices. Consider it training in horseback riding. And be quick about it! So help me, if I have to eat unseasoned gruel tonight... you'll all be running twice the laps tomorrow,” he growls menacingly. He waves a few promissory notes, which he then places into Marco’s open hand.

Suddenly, with this mention of Mikasa going on the trip, Jean actually has an urge to go rather than hide away from more work. His eyes meet Marco's while Mikasa is placing her burden in the woodpile. He prays telepathy has been established well enough between the two of them that his friend, his _best_ friend, his number one _buddy,_ will surely understand him. Marco raises an eyebrow at Jean's desperate expression before his eyes light with understanding, and he finally graces Jean with a small, sympathetic smile. Their instructor has already begun to walk away, so Marco raises his voice to call out to him.

“Excuse me, sir!” He tugs his arms into his usual perfect salute, crushing the notes behind his back. “I think...” As Shadis turns to face him, he seems to be having some trouble thinking on his feet. Jean wants to bite his nails. “... Jean is really bad at doing the laundry! … Sir!” Mikasa looks puzzled by Marco's sudden put-down of his friend. Jean is too nervous to process what he said in the moment. “Uh, and he's much better than me at navigating and horseback riding, sir! I think he should go instead!”

Their superior _carefully_ considers this proposition for the essential _three whole seconds_ it takes him to stop caring who goes. “Yes, whatever, sort it out amongst yourselves!” he bellows, waving them off with a hand and turning once again to leave. “But you'd better be back before dinner, or else.”

After Marco shouts his gratitude at the instructor's parting back, he grins at Jean, handing the crumpled notes off to him. “Looks like you guys had better get going ASAP. It's already past 2 PM. You need ginger, poppy seeds, and bay leaves.” As he gives Jean an amicable pat on the shoulder, Jean sends him a look filled with gratitude that is probably unnecessary; after all, their telepathy was clearly flawless, so he must already know.

* * *

They are fifteen minutes into their ride, and still neither of them have said a word. Jean tugs at the edges of his blanked-out mind for a conversation topic and lands on Marco's impugning of his honor. “Uhh, what Marco said about me and the laundry wasn't true, you know. I mean, heh, I uhh, I suppose I probably take a lot longer than most people 'cause I'm, uh, kind of – meticulous – when I'm scrubbing, you know. So I guess, um, that could be a bad thing.” He wants to kick himself for how badly he’s rambling.

Mikasa shuffles in her saddle, loosening her posture a bit. “That... sounds sort of nice, actually. It's kind of comforting to know that our laundry will be extra clean this week.” Jean thinks she’s done talking about it, but she turns to him for a moment to add, “Because of your work.”

He is flabbergasted that she'd actually thought carefully about the topic he'd pulled out on a whim. “Oh, that's... that's good, then.” And once again, the conversation threatens to die. They ride into a small patch of trees as he attempts to recover the thread of their topic. “He, ah, was right about our senses of direction, though. I think I'm... pretty solid when it comes to finding my way around. But he's, hah, he's really pretty bad at... that. Remembering where things are, I mean. Not that either of us would've needed to do it too badly this time, because... you do know the way, right?”

Mikasa nods, training her eyesight into the distance as they leave the tree trunks behind. “I've been sent into town for things a few times. I'm pretty sure I know where I need to go by now.” She goes silent again now, and as Jean glances over at her, he thinks she seems a bit uneasy. _Oh no,_ he worries, _does she think I didn't have confidence in her abilities? But I do, and I meant to say –_ His thoughts are interrupted by the girl herself. “It's good to have someone with a keen sense of direction along in case something goes wrong.” He notices then that her voice almost sounds creaky, like she is unused to speaking with others – and perhaps she is, since she'd only had Eren and Armin for a long time. Sometimes it strikes him just how different a life the two of them have had.

He agrees quietly, and here there is a natural pause in the conversation. Soon enough, the town of their destination appears above the horizon, and just as soon, the pair of them are dismounting their horses and hitching them to enter the market. The pair of them agree to split up; Mikasa takes the note for the poppy seeds, since they might prove difficult to find, while Jean keeps the notes for the other two. They plan to meet back at the place they entered within an hour.

Jean easily finds a stall where the proprietor is happy to trade his note for a bag of ginger when she notices his trainee jacket. She wishes him good luck in completing his training, and even passes him a few pieces of taffy. He pops a pink one into his mouth as he begins his search for the second spice. The bay leaves – the laurels, their other name he remembers to ask after – prove surprisingly difficult to find, however. After skimming through every other stall for at least twenty minutes (he sees Mikasa’s figure relatively close by, already waiting; she must have gotten lucky), he finds himself in the front corner at an immaculate storefront tended by a hunched man who is presently turned away.

“’Scuse me, sir, do you happen to have any bay leaves today?” Jean asks him.

The man nods, putting away what Jean believes might be a financial ledger and begins to turn to face his customer. “Yes, I most certainly do. You will find my bay leaves to be of the finest --” he begins, but seems to cut himself off as he spots Jean’s jacket. The middle-aged merchant’s face scrunches in a scowl as he points accusatorily. “Oh no, you don’t! I’ll not have you and your worthless military stealing more of my wares to throw away!” He seems to lean down to protect a cubby behind the counter that must house what Jean is searching for.

Jean does his best not to bristle at the provocation, even as he feels his blood pressure rising. He’s been working very hard on his temper lately. He raises the note to show it to the man. “... Hey. We’re not stealing anything. We’re happy to pay you a fair price, as you can read in this note right here,” he explains, waving it in his hand.

The merchant’s meaty jowls relax slightly as he plucks the paper from Jean. As he squints at the print on the page, he seems to become incensed once again, shouting, “You call this price _fair?!_ It might be a decent price for some poor sap from around here, but for you military brats, it’s not enough! All you do is waste time and goods trying to fight the damned unkillable titans!” He throws the paper in Jean’s face, and the only thing that saves it from the dusty road is Jean’s lightning-quick reflexes from his maneuver gear training.

Jean is beginning to get his ire up again. In an effort to maintain his composure, he looks away from his conversational partner, letting his eyes rest on a wagon in the alleyway behind the stall. It must belong to the owner. He blinks. _Hold on. Doesn’t that wagon look a bit familiar?_ he wonders to himself.

“Hey,” he calls to the merchant, “isn’t that your cart we came across during training the other day? ... Yeah. Yeah! It is! Your cart had broken an axle, and Armin was able to patch the thing so you could get home safely without having to leave your goods and ride out all on your own.” The man seems surprised by this mention, but not ignorant of the incident. Jean lightly folds his arms and continues, “So, it seems to _me_ that killing titans isn’t the only thing we do. You know what? A lot of us will join the Garrison and do exactly that kind of thing within the walls. I’m gonna be in the M.P., so _I’ll_ be protecting _you_ from the bandits that would’ve stolen your stuff. Forget about the nuts that’ll join the Survey Corps. They’re actually the outliers.” His eyes wander toward Mikasa for a moment, and he realizes she’s now moved close enough to hear him. He stumbles over his words for a moment. “B-but, more importantly, it seems that _you_ have reason to accept this offer from us. We helped you, you help us. Alright?”

The stooped man seems to begrudgingly accept Jean’s reasoning, finally taking the paper from him and pressing a small bag of leaves into his hand in return. Jean lightly shakes the bag at him in thanks, and turns to rejoin Mikasa. “Ready to go?” she asks. He nods to her a bit awkwardly, and they untie their horses and mount up in silence.

Not far from the town, Jean finally speaks his mind. “Uh, sorry about... my badmouthing of the Survey Corps. I mean... I know you’re going to be joining them with Eren, and I didn’t mean --”

“No, you did, Jean. I know how you feel about them.” Jean begins to pale at her words. She looks away for a moment. “... But you might be right. I’m honestly not sure how confident I am in the Survey Corps. I’m going to support Eren’s choice, whatever it might be. But I already know what he wants, and I also know it’s dangerous.” Mikasa raises a hand from her reins to adjust the red scarf she always wears, and she doesn’t lower it as she turns to Jean, holding it tightly against her collarbone. “Just before – the Wall fell, when we were still kids, Eren told me he wanted to join them. I told – our parents about it, in the hopes they could talk him out of it. As you can tell, it didn’t work in the end.”

Jean allows himself a laugh. “That suicidal bastard hardly listens to anybody until he makes a decision himself. I’m not surprised.” The conversation meets a lull as Jean thinks over her words and they both mutely train their eyes on the skyline. He turns back to her and earnestly tells her, “I’m sure he’ll be fine outside the Walls, though. We may not get along too well,” _and he might not have my fine-ass maneuver gear skills,_ he thinks privately, “but I respect the guy. And, hey, he’ll have you looking out for him, right? You could protect anyone, with your skill.” He follows this statement with the cocky grin he usually reserves for building up his own ego. “You guys’ll be fine.”

Mikasa’s expression is blank as she looks back at his smirking face. But, slowly, her expression melts into a genuine, albeit small, smile, the most emotion Jean’s ever seen directed toward anyone but Eren or maybe Armin. “Thanks, Jean. I hope things go well for you and Marco in the Military Police, too.”

Jean’s face flushes, and he has to turn away, as if seeing that smile is like staring at the sun. To him, it’s almost too bright, too beautiful to look at directly. “No... n-no problem.” He thinks for a little while, too embarrassed to speak, then fumbles in his pocket, holding something out to her. “W-want some taffy?” They spend the rest of the brief trip back sucking on candy and talking about frivolous things like the weather. Dinner that night goes off without a hitch.

* * *

Shadis steadfastly refuses to give Jean laundry duty again for three weeks after that, for reasons only Jean, Marco, and Mikasa can guess. It usually means he ends up swapping with someone who’s got an even worse job, like mucking out the stables. Still, Jean can’t really find it in himself to complain.

 


End file.
